It wasn’t good for shapewalkers to flit in and out of their two forms so quickly. Melting yourself from one thing to another took a lot of energy and doing it too often could cause shape sickness. There were even cases of walkers who broke themselves in the process, ending up stuck forever as a beast, or worse, as a human.

It was only sensible for her to stay where she was. Rest and gather strength before trying to shift again. She had done her part; nobody could say otherwise. Her mother might actually be proud of her, and she would definitely be glad Liska was safe, out of harm’s way.

Roots to that, Liska thought. There was no way she was going to sit up here, where she couldn’t even see the fighting. And if she flew below and managed to destroy a seeper or two . . . there might even be a stripe in it for her.

Legs trembling, she stood and reached for her cloak hood.

As she pulled it over her head, she felt the familiar tug of her animal form. Except, for the first time, her human body seemed reluctant to answer it. She pressed, pushing herself towards the change and was rewarded with the familiar sense of vertigo, that feeling somewhere between sleeping and waking, when your mind drifts, tethered to your body by the thinnest of threads and you feel as though you could become anything: human, animal, monster even . . .

The shift began, although instead of melting, her muscles felt as though they were being torn: pulled and twisted, as if she was being dragged over a barnacle-covered rock by her ankles.

Liska yowled and snapped, feeling her snout and sharp teeth forming, crackling into place. She writhed and turned until, with a gasp of relief, she collapsed to the parapet floor again, this time as a griffyx.

Tenderly she stretched out one paw, then another. She flexed her wings, twitched her ears, shook her tail. Everything was in place but, Tree above, it all ached so.

With her fox hearing she could pick out the sounds of fighting much more clearly, even though it was muffled by the layer of cotton cloud. Her new senses

saw the scent-trails of the shapewalkers like streaks of rainbow colours twisting off the battlements and bending sharply downwards.

Gingerly, Liska climbed to the parapet edge, took a breath and jumped off.

Compared to Selka’s roaring launch, it seemed more than a little pathetic. But, after a few tender flaps, she was airborne. It felt as though the wind might rip her wings right out of their sockets. They ground and popped as if her joints were full of sand. Still, she tucked them in and fell towards the clouds, their cool dampness soothing her muscles a fraction.